Que Sera Sara?

Gryffindor.

District 12.

Team Jacob.

Miranda. Carrie. Charlotte.

People identify with pretend. They just do.

And while I am as guilty as anyone of obsessive online quizzes, daydreamy adventures, and entirely delusional fantasies involving crossbows and laser sights while shopping for tinned beans, mine are, more often than not, a little old school.

The world is full of Lauries and Amys (and not nearly enough Janes and Helens).

On any given Sunday, my road is not unlike like Cranford high street.

I’ve known a handful of Charles Wallaces and a lifetime’s worth of Rachel Lyndes.

If literary allusion was a language, my inner monologue would be fluent.

So it comes as a rather small surprise today to realise that I, actually, in my deepest natural state, am Darcy.

Why yes, I am stupidly stubborn and proud.

Why yes, I would rather hang out with the same dude everyday than go to insipid parties and talk to strangers.

Why yes, I am all or nothing, wholeheartedly committed to a rare breed of human and yet shamefully unforgiving and petulant about it.

It is so blindingly, stupidly obvious.

And the lack of self-awareness is ridiculously appropriate.

Harumph. To see your faults on paper is a reckoning indeed.

I console myself that I may be bitchy and deeply selfish in daily life, but I’d give you the shirt off my back in a heartbeat if you really needed it.

I will now try my utmost not to waste my entire afternoon on a Lizzie-Bean thought experiment. I’d always pegged him a little more Professor Bhaer. Hm.